


Don't Expect Master Not to Know Just Because He's Away

by thatmermaidgirl



Series: What It Takes to Be a Good Pet [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bottom Jared Padalecki, Breathplay, Cock Cages, Come Eating, Coming Untouched, Dom Jensen Ackles, Dom/sub, Hurt Jared Padalecki, Impact Play, M/M, Master Jensen Ackles, Master/Pet, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Pet Jared Padalecki, Rough Sex, Sub Jared Padalecki, Top Jensen Ackles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26426551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatmermaidgirl/pseuds/thatmermaidgirl
Summary: Master is on a business trip for a whole week. He left explicit instructions—instructions Jared knows very well by now. Only, the week may be harder than Jared originally anticipated...“I had to come back early just to punish your sorry ass.” Uh oh. Master is using foul language. He’s furious. “Count, Pet,” he sneers. “And I better not hear anything else.”
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Series: What It Takes to Be a Good Pet [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1920880
Comments: 15
Kudos: 64





	Don't Expect Master Not to Know Just Because He's Away

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the Good Pet Verse by EasyTiga and myself (thatmermaidgirl). We hope you enjoy it! If you like Jared being Jensen's pet boy who worships the ground he walks on, this is the place to be.
> 
> Special thanks to @AreJackles on twitter for helping with the poster! She did that awesome edit of Jared with the rules on his back.

Jared by @AreJackles on Twitter, poster by me

_Jared kneels up and faces the cameras in the dungeon for afternoon play time with Master. He waits, taking in the ambient, residual woodsy scent of Master, listening for that smooth-as-honey, deep-as-whiskey voice to come over the speakers. He wishes desperately that he could see his Master like Master can see him. “Hello, Pet. Have you been a good boy?”_

_This question used to be much more difficult for Jared. Truthfully, the toughest thing for Master to teach him was to admit this. But Jared knows he hasn’t broken any of the Rules, so he nods. “Good. You had your lunch time treat, and are ready for Master to finish showing you he owns every part of you?” Jared nods eagerly this time. Yes, he had his treat. Yes, he’d like Master to finish reminding him who he belongs to. Not that Jared could ever forget. Even the tag on his collar says ‘Property of Jensen Ackles’. “Retrieve the leather strap paddle, Pet.”_

Art by Wincestbitchtits

_Jared crawls over to the toys Master left out on a bench for him to reach. He quickly selects the one with a twenty-four inch long, one-and-a-quarter inch wide black leather strap that’s folded in half, with the ends secured inside a cedar handle. It reminds Jared of a belt looped together into one hand._

_He scurries back to his spot and places the strap in front of himself. Then he kneels before the cameras—one facing his front, the other his back—legs together, hands clasped behind his back, looking into the lens for his next order._

_“Spread your legs. Mark up the inside of your thighs for me. Beat them nice and red. I want you to feel the burn for the rest of the day while you crawl.”_

_Jared would very much enjoy that—the constant reminder of Master claiming him. He opens his legs, exposing the pale flesh between them. He raises the strap above his head and belts it down onto the soft skin of his inner thigh, just above the pad protecting his knee. The welt is visible almost immediately, a cardinal line blooming across his hide from the blood rising to the surface. He hears Master’s low moan through the speakers. “Yeah, like that. Good boy. Continue.”_

_He switches to the other leg for the next strike—this time more brutally. The still-soft cock hanging between his legs_ _gives a jerk. With his groin exposed like this, there’s no way to hide it. Jared can only hope that the camera quality will cover his mistake, but it’s doubtful. Master doesn’t buy mediocre merchandise, and Jared was not permitted to get hard._

_But Master stays silent, despite Jared’s momentary lapse. He continues to slap the strap paddle above each previous line, alternating left and right. The farther up his leg he goes, the more sensitive it feels. Midway up, skin flaming from each blow, he feels the appendage twinge again. Jared winces almost imperceptibly, prepared for Master’s displeased chastisement and disciplinary command._

_“Jared. That’s twice now. Did I give you permission to become erect?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Jared cringes. “No, Sir.”_

_“‘No’ is correct. And to whom does that cock belong?”_

_“You, Sir. All of me belongs to you.”_

_“Correct again, Jared. So tell me; why have I seen it twitch, numerous times?”_

_Jared’s cheeks heat with shame. ‘I’m sorry, Master.”_

_“That’s not an answer, Jared. I expect better of you. Why are you unable to answer? Are you suggesting this is_ my _fault? Did I not properly train you?”_

_“No, Master. I mean, yes Master. I mean—” Jared stumbles over his words, flustered, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth to worry it and biting back tears. “You trained me properly, Sir. I am just... weak. I accept whatever punishment you deem necessary.”_

_“You ‘accept whatever punishment’? You think you have a_ choice?"

‘Crap. You dim, thick-headed pet. Don’t you ever think before you speak?’ _“No, Sir,” he says, voice cracking, “I’m sorry, Sir. I belong to you. I don’t get opinions.”_

_“No, you don’t,” he replies disdainfully. “Go fetch the blue-handled flogger.”_

_As he sets the strap paddle to his left for cleaning later and crawls back to the bench, a chill runs down Jared’s spine. The blue-handled flogger’s eighteen inch tail features ultra-thin black leather cords braided together for extra weight and stiffness. There are twenty braids total, each coming to one-eighth inch in diameter. He might just as well flog himself with jellyfish tentacles for how agonizing the sting is. Neither option is any more than he deserves—not that he gets to decide that—for forgetting his place as a pet and allowing Master’s cock (not his own cock anymore) to react, and for speaking out of line. Master is generous to always punish Jared promptly and fairly, so that he might learn better for next time, and for putting up with him despite all his shortcomings._

_Master deserves a pet far superior, and Jared will do_ anything _to truly earn his place by his Master’s side._

Jared yanks himself from the memory of a couple hours prior.

Master is on a business trip for a whole week. He left explicit instructions—instructions Jared knows very well by now. The list hangs off the refrigerator, right at the height for Jared to see while kneeling. Neatly handwritten in cursive, in blue ink on expensive ivory-colored stationery, it says: 

_-Obey orders quickly and promptly_

_-No backtalk_

_-No cussing or foul language_

_-No speaking unless addressed_

_-Do not speak to guests without my permission_

_-No standing when leashed_

_-Remind yourself daily that your body is not your own_

_-No taking initiative to do anything_

_-Keep to your schedules if I’m away_

_-No touching yourself_

_-Only dress how I command_

_-Only eat your premade meals unless I choose to feed you_

_-Always wear your knee pads (and take good care of them)_

_-No running in the house, unless there is a state of emergency_

_-Stay within your allotted area_

_-Do your exercises every morning before breakfast_

_You may call me Sir or Master; or Jensen_ with my permission only.

_Failure in following these Rules will result in Punishment._

Master did add one Rule while he was gone: No walking. No walking at all. Jared has to spend the entire seven days crawling his way around the estate.

It’s day five, and his wrists are killing him. His knees are doing ok thanks to the pads; however, his joints are beginning to just generally ache. But that’s a problem for a later date. The problem for right now is that play time for Master was a couple of hours ago, and more intense than normal. Due to Jared beginning to get hard and his idiotic mouth, he was ordered to use a spanking strap, the blue-handled flogger, nipple clamps, back to the spanking strap to finish Master’s first command, and finally, a crop. He got quite the workout, and he’s _hungry._

It’s 4:36 PM. Dinner is not until 5:30. He just started afternoon TV time and already can’t pay attention due to his boisterous stomach. Sitting cross-legged to avoid rubbing his thighs together, in his memory foam dog bed _(“Good pets get rewards”)_ at the foot of Master’s favorite chair in the theater room, he tries and tries to get lost in the program. For the afternoon, Master left documentaries that Jared gets to watch for forty-five minutes every day, after a servant clocks in his attendance and hits play. They’re not especially entertaining, but Jared doesn’t mind. It’s not his job to decide or care what he watches. 

The narrator, in a smooth and soothing British accent, drones on and on about the most substantial problems West Africa is facing. Starving children with distended abdomens take to the screen. Suddenly, Jared feels dreadfully guilty about his own thoughts of hunger. Besides, Jared’s stomach isn’t his concern. It’s not even _his_ stomach. It’s Master’s. Everything of Jared is Master’s. So Jared doesn’t get to have _opinions_ like being hungry.

In fact, Jared’s guessing Master wants him to watch this to realize how good he has it here. His fare may be bland, but come mealtime—his stomach growls at the reminder—food is always there. He is safe and secure. He does not have to worry about any financial hardships. There’s no risk of malaria, or need to sleep under a net. That would be suffocating—even worse than being locked in his tiniest cage.

He doesn’t even have to struggle with normal, everyday choices anymore.

He curls up on his side to see if it helps with his stomach cramps. His back is too painful to lie on, but the burning between his legs is bearable. It does help him feel better; however, the voice begins to lull him to sleep. He jerks himself awake twice, but the third time, he drifts away...

Jared jolts awake when the lights go on. Fu—and look, there he goes, about to spout off fowl language to boot _. Fudge._ He hopes he can blag his way through the test.

He sighs, rubs the sleep out of his eyes, and crawls out to the kitchen. At least it’s finally dinner time.

Also pinned on the refrigerator are his tests for the week. He takes today’s, and the red crayon—pets don’t get to use pens and pencils—from the magnetic cup. Red is an important color to Jared. It’s the pigment of his skin after Master makes him fly. His Punishments mark his flesh, and the visual reminder helps him remember to do better—and remember that he’ll always have ever-so-patient Master to take care of him and teach him.

On the front of the sheet, as expected, Master commands Jared to write about how his life compares to that of the people in the documentary. In his best handwriting, Jared begins. He brings up all the points he was thinking about earlier, and after a couple of minutes of writing, he ends the mini-essay by thanking his Master for being exceedingly generous as to protect, provide for, and train Jared.

He thinks he does ok on the front but when he flips the leaflet over, his once-rumbling stomach drops. He doesn’t know the answer to _any_ of the multiple-choice questions. 

He sighs, shutting his eyes momentarily, before filling out the back of the test as best he can. He pins it back up with the others. He’s _so_ screwed. He really should have watched the show.

 _‘Stupid,_ stupid _pet. Can’t you do_ anything _right? Why do you have to make Master’s life so difficult? He can’t leave you five whole days without you screwing up the simplest of tasks. He works his behind off so you can have a good life, and here you are, being such an ungrateful blunder that you can’t pay attention to a_ television show, _of all things.’_

Jared clenches his hand and brings it to his head. 

And, naturally, his crayon breaks.

He bursts into tears. This week has been so hard without his Master. He knows there are servants around the estate, keeping it nice and presentable and tending to the gardens and such. However, they’re all acutely aware of Jared’s schedule and exercise extreme precaution to stay out of his sight. He is, essentially, alone—and Jared doesn’t do well alone.

He brings his hand down and opens it to survey the damage. Barely hanging together by the wrapper, his red crayon lies fractured in his palm. It’s not his favorite, because Jared doesn’t get to make choices like that, but it’s certainly the color he uses most—along with green. He hopes that Master will replace it for him if he comes clean. Besides, he can’t hide it for long, and the Punishment will be much less severe (but no less than he would need or want) if he is honest upfront.

Warm, salty water steams down Jared’s face and into his open mouth as he sucks in heaving breaths. Master will come home and only want to relax, but he won’t be able to, because Jared was a bad boy and will need to be disciplined. He gently places his red crayon back in the cup and curls in on himself, trembling. 

A week without touch. A week without Master’s gentle hand on his head while he kneels next to the desk, Master’s fingers stroking through the strands. A week without any praise for how hard he’s been trying. A week without even hearing his Master’s voice during scoldings… it’s a horrible shock to his system. He got too used to Master being so good and kind to him, and always being there. 

But Master has things more important than a needy pet to deal with. Master has business to conduct. It’s not Jared’s concern to know what business—but he knows that it’s paramount. Master trusted Jared to be a good pet in his absence. 

Jared has failed.

He wants to see his Master again. Even from afar. He wants to see those emerald eyes. He wants to see Master’s smile when Jared pleases him. He wants to see those toned arms glisten while they play. (Yes, sometimes he sneaks a look. He can’t help it.)

He wants to smell Master’s unique scent of woodsy cologne and the sweat that drips from him during sessions. Jared’s not sure what it is he loves so much about it. Cedarwood? Cypress? Evergreen? Or maybe something that’s just simply _Master._ He longs for it.

He wants to hear Master’s voice. Even if he’s being reprimanded. _Especially_ if he’s being reprimanded. He should be. He was bad. He was _so_ bad. He wants to hear his Master tell him what he deserves—declare Jared’s Punishment for his transgressions today.

He wants to feel Master’s hands. He wants to feel them striking his behind; leaving welts that remain visible for days. He wants to feel Master’s heavy member on his tongue again; salty flavor leaking from the tip. 

He wants to taste Master’s cock. He wants to be choked with it till he can’t breathe and his vision starts to get spotty; mind blissfully blank and preciously peaceful.

When his world narrows down ‘till all that’s left is the smell of green earth and sweat. The slap-slap-slap sound of sins being cleansed off Jared’s skin. That feeling of floating; flying. Weightlessness. Come shooting down his throat; so much that it starts to spill over his tongue and through his lips.

He’ll lick up every drop and savor the flavor for hours, if only Master would be so kind as to teach Jared his lesson for being so inept.

Jared wipes his tears and tries to pull himself together. He has to eat, even though his hunger has faded to slight nausea. He washes his hands in the kneeling sink first, because hygiene is important to Master—as is Jared’s health.

He reaches for the stainless steel handle to the gigantic appliance in front of him and pulls. Jared’s eyes may no longer be watering, but his mouth starts to salivate at the sight.

When Master is home, he often shares his meals with Jared. Jared kneels at his feet like a good pet and Master feeds him bites off his fingers _(silverware is not for pets)._ But when Jared is alone, or in trouble, he has his own meals. Incredibly _bland_ meals.

Which is exactly why, right in the middle of the shelf at Jared’s eye level while kneeling, sits a decadent slice of chocolate cake with a whipped mousse topping. After how upset he got, it’s dreadfully arduous to ignore any longer. Jared wonders if he would be able to swipe just the teeniest of a taste of mousse without making a noticeable indentation.

No. No, he’s already screwed up _twice_ today. He’s not shooting for a third. So instead, he reaches around the cake and grabs one of his boxed up dinners for the week, shutting the large metal door with haste.

Tilapia, plain steamed broccoli, brown rice. He stares down at the green vegetables, wishing he was peering into jade eyes, instead. ‘ _Oh, Master. How I miss you so.’_

Jared picks up a piece of fish and scoops some rice onto it. His meals are all pretty bland, but of the three, dinner is definitely the one Jared finds the dullest. Sure, dry swallowing vitamins at breakfast isn’t the easiest, cold scrambled eggs are not too appetizing, and cold oatmeal is gelatinous, but the slice of rye he gets to spoon up the mush is delicious. Not that Jared has to _like_ the food to eat it. He needs sustenance, and he gets it. His taste buds aren’t his, anyways. _He_ isn’t his.

He’s Masters.

And that’s why lunchtime is the meal Jared most looks forward to. No, not his favorite, because again—Jared doesn’t get to have favorites. Jared’s favorite is whatever Master says it is. However, lunchtime comes with a bonus.

Master likes to keep part of himself in Jared.

Plain broiled chicken breast, an unpeeled raw carrot, a banana.

Master’s cum, frozen on a popsicle stick.

Yes, lunch is what Jared looks forward to most on his whole schedule when Master is away. His cumsicles are his reprieve from the loneliness that is a home without Master. Honestly, Jared can’t imagine how anxious he would become without them. It would be like not wearing his collar. He _needs_ to be Master’s like he needs nutrients to survive. 

And, secretly—a secret he hopes never reaches the light of day, but he’ll tell Master without hesitation if prompted—he _does_ have a favorite of something.

Out of all the nutrients Master has ever fed Jared, Master’s cum is the best.

True, Jared has eaten some exquisite foods off Master’s fingers. But nothing could ever beat something that came from Master himself. The sensation of his semen sliding down Jared’s throat—especially when it’s fresh, with the heavy weight of Master’s member resting over Jared’s tongue; the sweaty scent of the ticklish strands over Jared’s nose when his forehead is pressed flush to Master’s skin… he begins to feel frantic from his longing. 

This feeling of urgent necessity for Master to be near is nothing new to Jared. Master has left him before. But to be alone for _this_ long? Maybe some pets can handle it; however, Jared is not one of them. He’s aware of how needy and clingy he is, yes. It’s a problem. And he’s trying to work on it—to be better for Master, more deserving of his care—he really is. As it is right now, Jared’s _not_ handling things well.

He shakes himself out of his reverie and realizes he actually completed his meal while fantasizing, eating on autopilot. Sniffing once to shove back his wave of emotions from before, Jared gets a drink from one of his jugs. They are, essentially, giant, liter-sized rodent water bottles—those upside down ones that stick through the cage—with a button on the side that Jared pushes to get the water to come out. He must drink all three every day, and servants fill them each morning before Jared wakes. 

He places the emptied food container back in the fridge where he got it so Master can confirm he ate everything. After giving the confection a brief, longing glance, Jared opens the freezer and stares at the last remaining frozen treat with even more yearning.

But if he eats the cumsicle now, he doesn’t think he’ll make it through tomorrow and the morning after, till Master’s return.

Jared’s gaze settles back on the pastry.

What’s the harm in just a little taste? He’s _positive_ he’ll be able to dip his pinky into that smooth, silky chocolate without Master being able to tell.

What the heck. It’s been a taxing week. Why not? The cameras can’t see what he’s doing from this angle.

Jared gently skims the appendage over the surface of the mousse and procures what, to anyone else, would be a miniscule amount. To Jared, it is a massive defiance. He pops his finger into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it, closing his eyes and smiling. _Mmmm._ The richness of the extravagant cocoa flavor dances across his palate. He salivates from the sweetness. It was exactly what he needed to take his mind off the anxiety and stress he’s felt.

For about ten seconds.

Then, his brain launches into overdrive. _'And how stressful do you think_ Master’s _week has been? Out there, making a living so you can lead this comfortable, spoiled life. And you can’t follow half a page of extraordinarily basic rules. What would he think, if he knew what a worthless piece of scum he chose as a pet?_

_‘Then again, he must have always known. Master knows everything.’_

The nausea returns full force. Jared’s mouth floods for a completely different reason.

Oh no. Oh no. Uh oh…

He slams the refrigerator doors shut and swallows repeatedly as he rushes to the nearest pet bathroom. His stomach lurches. He’ll never make it crawling. Never make it…

He cuts his losses and stands up to run. He’d rather be caught running than puke all over the floor. What Master would do to him then…

Jared shudders during his sprint. Thoughts of Punishment aren’t the only reason. He’s not gonna make it. Oh God, oh God…

He throws both hands over his mouth as he races up the stairs, retching. Slapping sounds echo through the hall as Jared runs as fast as he can, naked feet pattering on the marble.

He shoves open the door to his washroom and hurls himself at his toilet, chunks of his dinner spewing through his fingers. Thankfully, his squatting toilet is just a hole with a bidet attachment, so cleanup will be easy. Jared heaves and gags, bringing up everything he ate for lunch and dinner both. His eyes start to water. It seems to never end. He can’t breathe. He starts to panic. This isn’t Master cutting off his oxygen. This is uncontrolled. He has to trust his body to know what it’s doing, but how can he? Jared doesn’t trust himself to correctly spit shine a shoe.

Spit. Spit. So much spit. Jared hacks it into the toilet between vomiting and sucking in gulps of breath.

When it’s finally over, Jared scoots over to his kneeling sink, rinses out his mouth, and brushes his teeth as hard as he can. Then he grabs his washcloth for the day and gets to cleaning up. He soaks it in water, adds soap, and pushes his sick into the hole where it belongs. He flushes and, after alternating between cleaning out his washcloth and scouring the floor a few more times, he wrings out the rag and hangs it back up to dry. 

Jared leans against the wall opposite his sink and toilet. He scrubs his hands over his face and rubs his eyes. He is absolutely _not_ going to cry again. Failures don’t get to mourn their own mistakes. No, Jared had that coming to him. That’s what he gets for disobeying Master so brazenly.

Master may not know about the cake, but Jared’s still going to be punished for not doing well on his quiz, breaking his crayon, and… not just _walking_ when he was told only to crawl, but _running._

He thinks back to Master’s afternoon play time, and the result of his transgressions then, getting lost in his thoughts—

 _Jared places the blue-handled flogger in front of him and kneels up, facing the camera, just as he did with the spanking strap. Master’s voice resonates through the speakers, “I realize it’s been hard on you, me being gone and you having no release. Do not think this will make me go easy on you, Pet. Five strikes for each twitch. And I expect to see real strikes, not wimpy, pathetic swats of self-preservation. You_ will _learn to control your impulses and instincts.”_

_Jared does not respond with even a simple ‘Yes Sir.’ He isn’t supposed to open his big foolish mouth. He remembers that this time, turning around for his back to face the main camera._

_He grasps the azure handle. The dungeon’s lights glint and dance off the onyx plaits. Master collects toys like some people with wealth hoard rare gems, and this is one of his prized jewels. Jared’s back cries rubies when blitzed brutally enough, and it paints onyx with cardinal carnelian to fuse into amethyst-tinted obsidian._

_Leather tails whistle through the air. A resonating_ ‘Smack!’ _ripples through the room. Tears of a different kind from moments ago prick at Jared’s eyes. “One,” he whimpers._ ‘Thwap!’ _“Two.”_ ‘Crack!’ _“Three.”_ ‘Snap!’ _“Four!” Sounds start to fade into the background, but after number five, Jared hears a gasp that forces itself down his own throat. He perceives his mouth form the number, but only a faint buzzing echoes between his ears._

_The world narrows down more at six. Jared feels sapphires leak from his eyes as the King’s diamond purifies his pestilence._

_Numbers. Seven? Seven. He senses his skin splitting to spill his sins, sinking down his spine, soaking the stage of his sanctification. Master oversees his attempt at redemption. Master; Jared’s lord. His God._

_Eight. Tachycardia suddenly takes his attention. The beat, beat, beat; tempo speeding till syncope threatens to undertake his task._

_He pushes back the feeling of faintness._

_He_ must _satisfy Sir. If Jared does, his holy saint will sanction his salvation. His spirit will be unsullied. His soul will be absolved._

 _He will be_ saved.

 _Jared can prove his worth. He_ will.

_Nine. His hide and his eyes tear up in tandem._

_Teeth gritted. Palms sweaty. Face ashen. Boiling blood; body burning. Baked. Scalding. Scorched._

_Ten._

_“Good boy.”_

_Trying valiantly to prevent cock twitching at the praise. No more; please. Can’t take more._

_“That’s my good boy. I knew you could. Pet; come back to me, Pet. You did so good, sweet boy.”_

_Success._

_A cut above the rest._

Jared ricochets back out of his memories. Master was so proud of him for how he handled the flogger. There were a good fifteen minutes spent of straight praise. Of course, after that, he still had to be disciplined for his backtalk. That’s when the nipple clamps and crop came into play…

_“You make Master so proud, my sweet boy. However, now, you still need to be punished for speaking out of line. Get the clover clamps and the crop with the dog ear popper. Because you took your last punishment so well, Pet, get the one with the stiffer shaft.”_

_A twinge of relief courses through Jared. The dog ear popper is the widest, so the sensation from it is more of a slap than a sting—the stiffer one even more so._

_“Put on the clamps and continue with the spanking strap.”_

_Silently, Jared obeys. The clover clamps stand out from Master’s other clamps because when the chain is pulled, they tighten, and they_ stay _tightened until removed completely. The cock between his legs would normally be even harder to control with them, but with Jared’s Punishment still fresh in his mind—and on his back—it shouldn’t be a problem._

_Not needing to flick the little nubs to full stiffness after his assault on himself, Jared gets right to the command. The round silicone pads on the jaws pinching his nipples have four small raised circles for added pressure. While attaching them, he imagines his Master being the one to do so, caressing his chest._

_Master hums his approval with the clamps in place. Jared grasps the spanking strap once again, starting over where he left off, marring his flesh (Master’s flesh) with Master’s mark (Jared’s mark at Master’s hand)._

_Jared keeps a lid on the noises wanting to escape from him—the gasps and groans, the pants and moans, the cries and sighs. But oh, they’re there, alright, because he’s back in the same little fantasy, with Master abusing his flesh with the tool._

_It’s_ perfect.

_Reaching the top of his inner thighs, “Tug the chain,” sounds through the speakers, orotund. Jared is thankful Master has a microphone of high enough quality to carry though the gravelly undertones Master adopts when aroused._

_Continuing using his dominant hand to work his way back down towards the insides of just over his knees, alternating right-left-right-left, Jared uses his other hand to give the metal links a swift and gentle jerk._

_The pressure pinching his nipples increases. He has to bite his lip to stay quiet this time. He’s sure the mic on this side is just as flawless, and since this is Punishment for speaking out in the first place, Jared fears even sounding too breathy would be inappropriate._

_As he completes the first pass back down his legs, smacking the spanking strap just above his protective pads once more, Master’s sonorous voice orders, “Tug it again.”_

_So Jared does. The clamps are about halfway as taut as they go. “Mmm, yes, you’re mine,” Master grunts. A sense of peace and rightness falls over Jared. Even when Master is away, Jared has an important purpose to serve. He is a conduit for Master’s pleasure. This gives him great gratification. He has never truly felt like he’s mattered before becoming Master’s pet._

_Since Jared is now on run three over the sensitive skin, the blush deepens to match the color of his back. He can’t see it currently, but he knows this from experience. He’s losing himself in the ecstasy, still with the mental image of Master’s hand delivering the blows instead of his own. Soon, he’s about a third of the way up the long length of his creamy thighs._

_“Again.”_

_Pressure builds up even more. He knows the delicate nubs on his chest will be tender the rest of the day after this, just like the reddened area above his knees. He looks forward to it. While he can’t exactly simply reach up and touch them, Jared knows that the cool air on his bare body will help him feel it enough. He doesn’t wear shirts—or anything, besides a jock if Master wants him in one._

_The world starts to narrow and quiet. He’s fighting it, knowing he has to stay present for Master’s orders, but that floaty feeling is beginning to overpower him. Jared opens his mouth and pants with each lash to his hide, lines of reddened flesh heating as blood rushes to the surface. Head lowering, his eyes shut against his will._

_“Oh, no. Nuh-uh. You don’t get to go there yet. Look at the camera, Pet.”_

_Jared whimpers softly, but obeys, gaze rising towards the lens recording him, Master watching from just beyond. Vision blurry, Jared blinks a couple of times to try to clear it. He is unsuccessful._

_“We haven’t completed your punishment, Pet. It’s not much of a punishment if you escape away inside your own mind, is it?”_

_“No, Sir,” slightly parted lips whisper in response._

_“Continue. Stay present. Oh, and tighten those clamps the rest of the way. Maybe that will help you remember what you are:_ Mine. My _toy to command.”_

_Jared would never forget what he is and who owns him, body and soul, but he doesn’t voice this. Even if he was allowed to talk, Master already knows Jared will remember that fact, always. So he doesn’t take the bait._

_But Master is right. He’s not behaving how he should._

_Yanking the chain on his chest, the clamps constrict over his nipples. The raised surfaces dig achingly into his sore nubs. With a stifled yelp, Jared is instantaneously yanked completely back into himself. He’s wide-eyed and breathing somewhat rapidly, but no longer in danger of drifting off into subspace and displeasing Master. However, the shock and rush of endorphins created by the abrupt burst of pain cause Jared to lapse in his attack with the leather-belt-like strap._

_“Pet,” Master intones warningly, “Keep going.”_

_Jared starts subtly at the order, not realizing he had paused._ ‘Looks like you disappointed Master regardless,’ _he chastises himself. He tightens his grip on the wooden handle and picks back up with his task, striking down with precision and purpose. He gets so absorbed in doing well for Master that before he knows it, he’s back up near his groin again._

_He finishes the highest strike and launches into the barrage cascading to his knees. He belts his way brutally fast, line after line bordering on each other. Master must be pleased at this, because breathing heavily, he groans, “Yeah, Pet, like that. Mark yourself up for me. Mark your flesh for Master,” then makes a sound roughly translating to “Nnngh.”_

_Jared doesn’t have to see him to know he’s close. Working so expeditiously, Jared reaches the pads in under thirty seconds. He lines up his next shot, not slowing his pace at all, laboring himself into a sheen of sweat, panting from the exertion of his own assault._

_Scarlet layers upon scarlet, deepening in shade with each stroke of leather. By the time Jared reaches the highest point of his thighs again, the blood looks ready to burst from his body._

_When the command “Stop” is emitted through the speakers, Jared hears it in his voice._

_Master is drunk. Inebriated on the display his pet presented._

_Jared did that._

_Pride surges through him. He brought Master to that point. He feels warm and fuzzy all over, and like he was just gifted the best present in the world. He closes his eyes and basks in it, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. Master’s praise was evident in his tone. Jared lives for it._

_“Take off the clamps and exchange the strap for the crop.”_

_Freeing his nipples is a relief. Blood flows back into the area, and they throb and tingle. This is getting to the easy part. The stiff crop with the dog ear popper will be a nice cool down for their play session. He grips the handle and kneels for the next command._

_“Crop your nipples.”_

_Jared’s not sure how he would describe the expression that overtakes his face. Shock? Horror? Hope that it’s a joke, when he knows deep down it’s not? But nevertheless, Master’s word is law, and Jared was directed to spank the hypersensitive nubs still pulsing on his chest._

_So, he does._

_And this time, he does not manage to hold back the whimpers forcing their way out._

_Smack, smack, smack, smack. Right, left, right, left. He cries out once, and forces his other hand over his mouth to silence himself. Master did not ask for noise._

_Pleasure soon floods his veins. That weightless, slightly drugged feeling starts to come back. Eyelids drooping, he fights it. But then, Master says, “Let go, Pet. Let it go.”_

_Jared lets go._

_He is still aware of the automatic motions his body is doing; it knows to obey Master’s orders even if his mind is somewhere far, far away. He feels the rigid blows to his chest, propelling_ _him deeper into the hazy, canorous trance. Master’s voice croons to him through his smoky consciousness._

_“Yes, that’s it, that’s my good boy.” His words are punctuated by heavy grunts, caesuras in the song. “Oh how I wish I was there, baby boy; shove my cock in you ‘n fuck you till you pass out, shaking and sobbing. You’d like that, huh? Masters fat cock splitting you open, driving into you while you beg?”_

_Jared is beyond words. He tries to construct them, their crude silhouettes in his brain, never fully entifying. His mouth forms the shapes he knows it should be singing, but no sounds come out besides keens of desperation and soprano-pitched whines. He has to tell Master. Jared panics, heart beating the bass to his melody; has to answer, to let him know that yes, his good pet wants his cock._

_But, somehow, it seems he’s managed to assuage Master, regardless of his dazed head hindering him from responding. He knows this because Master continues to groan, breathing rapidly and harshly into the mic. “Yes, Pet. Fly for me. Picture Master there pounding your ass, beating your nipples raw.”_

_Jared’s hole clenches and flutters, as if his desire alone can summon Master, to jam thick fingers in and slot that cock right where it belongs. Its home is inside Jared’s holes. They are harmonious together, his ass and Master’s cock._

_Jared hears a wet whimper—a sound of sorts that Master never makes. It’s too pathetic. But he’s not crying. Is he? He can’t tell. All he knows is Master. Master’s voice. Pain from Master’s hand (or at least, Master’s command) over Jared’s chest. Master’s smell surrounding him._

_Master’s deep, drawn-out, lecherous grunts and groans, getting louder and louder, a crescendo to Jared’s ears._

_Then, a sigh. Master humming, “Mmm, my pet. Stop now, Pet. Put the crop down.” Jared hears something clatter to the floor, the assailment on his nipples ceasing._

_“Good boy.”_

Jared moans at the recollection of their earlier play. He snakes his hands up his chest to brush over the bruised, chafed nubs, relishing in the ghost of Master through feeling his command.

It’s been a long five days.

He just needs some release.

There’s no lube in the pet bathrooms, of course. However, for—like prior—when their play gets a little rough, Master _has_ allowed him a tub of vaseline to use…

He lunges for where it sits atop his sink, and slicks up two fingers. He doesn’t tease his rim and rub around it, prefering to get right down to business. His hole hasn’t been touched in what seems like ages, but he hungrily feeds himself both fingers anyways. It’s a stretch. The burn only urges him on. Jared pumps his hand a few times, sliding in and out, in and out. The drag is incredible—he’s missed this _so_ much—but it’s nothing compared to the work of art that is Master’s cock, on the masterpiece that is Master’s body.

Still, it will be enough. Jared is soon shaking with need. Desire overpowers the part of him shouting _‘No, stop, you’re not allowed!’_

He crooks his fingers inside himself “Oh, _Sir_ , yes, _oh,_ ” Jared moans. His fingers rub at the firm flesh of his prostate while his other hand runs feather-light touches up the length of his cock. He didn’t think he’d manage to get hard without Master’s word after earlier, but when he imagines Master’s voice in his head, telling him it’s ok, his cock fills out all the same. It feels so good. So, _so_ good.

He’s being bad. He’s being so, _so_ bad.

He just needs some release.

Jared strokes inside himself a couple more times till he’s writhing on the floor, a drooling mess of lust and sin. Nothing but wanton whines escape his mouth.

Wrong, wrong, _wrong._

But so, _so_ right.

It feels like it’s been lifetimes since he’s felt Master’s hand caress his cheek, let alone that special spot inside him. Ages. _Epochs._ But using his own digits, Jared can pretend.

His touches range from barely grazing over that spot of ecstasy to grinding down on it hole clenching around him. He’s all but thrashing around. “Oh, Master, please, _please!”_

 _“Good boy. That’s a good boy. Come for me, Pet,”_ echoes in Jared’s mind.

Jared does what good pets do.

He listens.

Hole fluttering, cock pulsing out neverending streams of cum, Jared gasps and cries out, wailing. He convulses, bearing down on his prostate while painting the bathroom in his transgressions. He nearly blacks out from the strength of his orgasm.

When he comes around moments later and cracks his squeezed-shut eyes, marble striped with sin lies before him.

His eyes shoot open the rest of the way. 

Oh sh—sharks. God d— _dangit!_

Jared hastily shuffles up from his curled up position.

Oh no.

He scrambles to his feet, then snatches the still-wet washcloth hanging on the bar with his towel.

 _‘Master’s towel,’_ his brain supplies. Master’s towels. Master’s washcloths. Master’s bathroom, Master’s floor.

_Master’s Jared._

Fudge.

Jared practically attacks the floor in his urgency, erasing the remnants of the crime. Once he mops up all his cum, he rinses the rag yet again, wrings it out, and hangs it to dry for what is hopefully the final time.

He just… he just needed some release.

— 

Jared spent so long in the bathroom, he nearly didn’t make 6:30 play time. However, it doesn’t seem like it would have mattered, because it’s half an hour in, and still no Master. He mentally squirms while holding his stock-still kneel, not wanting to be punished for poor posture to boot. At least Master will only know about TV time, the crayon, and running. At least the bathrooms have no cameras. If Master knew it all—the cake, vomiting up Master’s food, the… the other thing… he shudders. Master would not be merciful. And, while it’s not up to Jared to decide what he deserves, he wouldn’t hope for leniency, anyways.

He truly has been a _rotten_ pet.

 _‘Master’s just busy,’_ he tells himself, _‘Caught up in work. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t.’_

—

When Master still hasn’t shown up by the end of the scheduled session, Jared isn’t sure what to do. The next fifteen minutes are supposed to be spent cleaning and putting away the toys they used, but with nothing soiled by touching Jared, there’s nothing to wipe down.

The panic he managed to push down until now creeps back into the forefront of his mind. His breathing accelerates. His fingers twitch. He feels his heart pounding in his chest. His vision narrows.

Breaths start to come in gasps and very soon, Jared breaks his kneel, falling to his butt on the floor, hyperventilating. He scurries backwards until his back hits a corner. ‘ _He doesn’t want you. He doesn’t_ need _you.’_

His arms wrap around his knees, pulling them firmly into his chest. ‘ _He can do better. He doesn’t deserve to have to put up with you. He never has.’_ Eyes squeezed tight. Jaw clenched so forcefully, his teeth grind together. ‘ _Why should he keep you around? What have you ever done for him?’_ Shallow, heaving breaths in. Forceful exhalations out. _‘He’s going to toss you to the curb.’_ Shaking limbs. Quivering lip. _‘Not a cent to your name. You’d deserve it.’_

He doesn’t get to decide what he deserves. How many times is he going to have to repeat that? He _especiall_ y doesn’t get to decide what Master deserves.

 _‘But you know it’s no lie. He can do_ so _much better. He can find a pet who actually listens. Behaves. Respects him and his word.’_

No. That last part’s not true. Jared respects Master. He does.

_‘You have a funny way of showing it.’_

Tears stream down his face. He can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. He’s going to die here in this room and Master will be forced to dispose of Jared himself. If Jared could at least get outside first, so Master doesn’t have to…

He unwraps his arms to crawl forward, but only succeeds in hauling himself a couple inches before collapsing down and curling up on his side. His arms pull his legs back into himself. He doesn’t notice them scraping against his abused nipples, or the abrading feeling of his raw thighs rubbing together as he quakes. All he knows is he can’t breathe. _Master._ Must move for Master. Jared will stay devoted until the end.

He attempts to rise to his hands and knees once again, and falls flat with a keen. He extends his arms and claws at the floor, trying to drag himself away, to not create even more trouble for Master.

Again, he accomplishes nothing more than the distance a slug would cover in an hour.

_‘Slug. That’s a good analogy for you.’_

This time, when he curls into a panting, shivering ball, he doesn’t bother trying to move.

—

After his panic attack, Jared was twenty minutes late to nighttime reading time. But nearly two hours later—after his final bathroom break and washing his knee pads—finally, _finally,_ it’s time for bed. Jared is emotionally exhausted after the day he’s had. Only one more full Master-less day, and then he’ll no longer be alone. He’ll no longer be burdened by all this chaos. His world will narrow down to one thing, and one thing only: Master.

In Jared’s small room, he drags his pet bed into his medium-sized cage. He usually doesn’t sleep in one while Master is away, but the world is just too big right now. He needs to feel safe and confined. 

When he closes his eyes, he thinks back to the praise he received the last time he heard Master’s voice.

_“Good boy. That’s a good boy. My sweet, sweet pet."_

—

Body trained, Jared wakes up at 6:00 sharp. When he groans and cracks his eyes open, rolling to rise up and practice his positions, his heart stops. His jaw must hit the floor, it drops so far.

Rising to a hasty and sloppy-with-sleep kneel, he shouts “Master!” in his momentary shock, before remembering himself and clamping is mouth shut.

Thankfully, Master only chuckles. “You may speak, Pet,” he says. Palm facing the ceiling, Master crooks his middle and index fingers in Jared’s direction. 

He does not need to be told twice, and crawls over to his Master’s side as hurriedly as possible, sashaying with his hips in the hopes that it pleases him. Master is home. Master is home! Finally, _finally,_ Master is home!

As Jared kneels up, Master asks, “How was your week, Pet? Were you a good boy like you told me?”  
  
Jared’s cheeks heat. Honesty is the only way. “I was, Sir, until yesterday. But it was after our session, I swear! I, um. I missed part of the documentary, I accidentally broke my red crayon, and then I felt sick and I… I ran to the bathroom. I’m so sorry, Sir.”

But only so much honesty.

Jared keeps his eyes trained on Master’s face. He wants to point his gaze at the ground. He wants to grovel as his Master’s feet and beg for his forgiveness. He pushes those urges away, focusing only on the here and now. He can be a good pet again. He _can._

Master’s face hardens. “Is that so, Pet.”

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir. So sorry.”

“I know this week must have been hard on you. Put on your knee pads and come with me, Pet.”

Jared retrieves the pads from where he hangs them to dry—still crawling, because despite not wearing his leash, he hasn’t been told he can walk again—and dons them as quickly as possible. He is by Master’s side again in practically a heartbeat.

Moving through the halls briskly, Jared is not surprised when they approach the stairs. He’s even less surprised when they take the wing that holds the dungeon.

He is, however, bewildered when they continue right on past it. He spares the door a baffled glance on their way by.

“No, I’m not punishing you yet,” Master tells him. They take the door into Master’s office.

 _‘Of course. He just came back from a business trip. He has work to complete before taking the time to teach you your lesson. Stupid pet. What, you think it’s always about_ you _?’_

Jared kneels next to the large, mahogany desk. The cake slice is waiting there, next to the typical accents the workspace holds: Master’s computer, pens, notepads, and important papers. Jared is perplexed—Master never eats at his desk—but knows better than to show it. It’s not any of his business what Master does or does not do with his own food, at his own desk, in his own house.

Master sits down on his cushy chair made of rich, dark leather. He forks up one bite of the delectable dessert, bringing it to his mouth. His plush lips open as the fork passes through, tongue peaking out as he takes the bite. Jared has never longed to be a piece of silverware so horribly. To touch Master’s mouth… it’s been so long.

“Mmm,” Master says. “This is exquisite. Would you like to try some, Pet?”

Jared’s gaze falters marginally before resting back on Master’s face.

“For being honest with me,” Master says, cutting a bite off with his fork and picking it up with his fingers. 

Something is not right here. This saccharine behavior is incongruous with Jared’s transgressions, and Master’s traditional reactions to his pet misbehaving.

Master lowers the digits to Jared’s mouth and, a mere inch from his open lips, he waggles his other finger and tuts, “Ah, ah, ah.”

Jared gulps.

He knows. Oh God, he knows.

_Master knows._

Master turns his computer monitor so that it faces Jared’s slightly quaking form. “Watch, Pet.” His face is stony, tone hard and unforgiving. He clicks a button.

A window pops up, showing Jared in the kitchen.

Jared’s prone form is rocking back and forth, fractured crayon cradled in his palm. He watches a replay of yesterday’s events—crayon placed into the cup, past Jared’s knees pulling into his chest, arms tugging them close. Playing at 2x speed, he sees himself open the refrigerator door and grab his supper. 

Sped up even more through Jared eating, it’s slowed down to normal speed when the box is put back. The freezer is opened. The freezer is closed.

Master clicks another button.

The view switches to that of a camera inside the fridge. Yesterday Jared’s hand stretches towards the chocolate pastry, finger barely kissing the surface. He brings it to his mouth and sucks, a look of pure bliss and felicity taking over his features.

As the video plays, humiliation floods him, tinging him scarlet from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears.

Other Jared slams the door and crawls hurriedly across the marbled floor. It’s not long before he clambers to his feet and begins sprinting.

Master presses another button and the camera changes once again.

Jared’s stomach plummets.

Master hid a camera in the bathroom.

Master looks at Jared as the video continues to play. “Keep watching,” he says. His voice is callous and cold. “You lied to me, Pet.” He laughs, “Did you _actually_ think I was going to feed this to you? That you deserve it? Absurd!”

It’s not up to Jared what he deserves.

As he watches himself retch and heave, Master continues. “First, you’re so lazy and feckless you decide TV time is a good time for a nap. I feed you, I let you read my books,” his voice raises with each item on the list, “I allow you kneeling cushions, I clothe you,” Master chuckles at that one. “If it fancies me, that is.”

Jared has an array of jocks that please Master, but it’s really not unoften he’s completely naked—save his collar, of course—like this week.

“I even let you sleep in my bed periodically.” Master leans forward, his face inches from Jared’s as Jared continues to watch himself clean his own sick. Master’s tone changes from scornful to suave “And I make you _fly,_ Pet. Has anyone else ever made you feel the way I do?”

Jared keeps his eyes trained where they are supposed to be. He does not look at Master, despite the urge to gaze into those emerald eyes so close to his. He doesn’t even dare to _blink._ But he does allow himself to take in the aroma—that scent of forest trees and Master’s sweat. He takes in deep pulls of breath, trying to ground himself for what’s to come.

“No. They haven’t. I know you’ve not forgotten.”

Jared shudders. It was a low blow.

But he’s right.

“And this right here, this is my favorite part,” Master feigns, arm making a sweeping motion towards the screen. “Not only did you sleep through a lesson, break my property, steal my food, _and_ have the audacity to vomit it back up _along with my essence_ , but you went on and _touched what’s mine._ And,” another click of the mouse has Jared’s moans filling the room; Master’s voice drops even lower, contemptuous, “you did it thinking about _me._ ”

It takes all Jared’s strength not to look away.

“You let yourself get hard and fucked yourself picturing _my_ image. So tell me, Jared. What did he say to you? That version of me you invoked in your head, what did he do? Did he touch you,” Master’s breath ghosts across his cheek, “did he fuck you?”

Jared bites his bottom lip to keep it from quivering. Is he supposed to answer this? Is this an order?

“Speak, boy!” Master slams his hand on his desk and roars, spittle flying onto Jared’s jaw, still within kissing distance if Jared was to turn his head.

Jared jolts. “I, I, he, he,” he tries tremulously.

“‘I, I, he, he,” is mocked back derisively. “Spit it out!”

Tears well up. He blinks them back. _‘Don’t cry now. It’ll only make things worse.’_ “He… he said,” Jared pants, “in my head, you said I could get hard. I pretended my hand was yours—”

Master interrupts him, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms, “Which hand? The one up your ass, or the one flicking those nipples and stroking that cock I own? Be specific.”

“The one… the one up… the one I used to finger myself,” he adds meekly, and is given one curt nod to continue. “I pretended you were doing it. And, you told me I was a good boy, and, and…” Jared stumbles over his words. “And-you-told-me-to-come-for-you,” rushes out so hurried it’s nearly incoherent.

“Did I now. Hm.” Master acts completely blasé. “So, you rejected me, then decided to conjure up some other me in your head, decided you deserved to come, and decided I _told_ you to do it?” Arms unfold and hands come to rest on knees. He leans forward again, into Jared’s space. “Need I remind you that you don’t _get_ to decide what you deserve,” Master spits out at him. “And you most undeniably, _unequivocally_ do _not_ get to decide what I do or say, or what I determine you deserve,” he finishes, steely. There is a dark threat under the words. “ _Do_ you understand?”

Jared swallows, mouth suddenly bone-dry. “Yes, Sir.”

Master pushes up from his perch in one graceful sweep and strides towards the door. “Follow.”

Jared wastes no time.

This time, progressing down the halls, they do stop in front of the dungeon. He follows Master in and, obsequious, kneels to wait for his next command.

“First,” that gruff voice assertively begins, wandering away from Jared and to the armoire, “there will be no more of this nonsense with that pesky appendage between your legs.” Master returns, standing in front of Jared, and hands him something. “Put it on.”.

Jared shuts his eyes and sighs. The Holy Trainer.

Balls and cock get stuffed into the ring. Master already lubed the tube up. He’s such a kind and thoughtful Master. Jared slides the tube over the squished cock and pushes it into the ring. He looks up.

Master’s face is void of all emotion except for the tick of his jaw. He bends over, turns the key, and pulls it from the lock. Standing up straight, he pulls the connected chain over his neck, and tucks the key under his shirt.

“On the bench.” Frigid. Detached.

There’s no hesitation before Jared clambers into position. His ankles are strapped down first. So tight. Wrists are next, leather constricting them. Confined and restrained. He is at Master’s mercy.

“Now,” Master continues, moving back to where he retrieved the cock cage, “there’s to be no more ‘running mishaps’.” Footsteps become louder, approaching Jared again; “Just to be sure,” a resounding _‘Thwap!’_ reverberates through the room.

A line of fire belts onto the arches of Jared’s feet. _“Aah!”_ he shrieks and squirms, both against his will.

 _“Silence!”_ Master bellows. “I don’t want to hear a _thing_ from you. Do not underestimate what will happen if you make one _single_ sound,” he growls. Jared’s only warning is the hiss of the cane slicing through the air before another brutal swat finds his feet. He shoves his tongue into the back of his throat and bites his lip. It’s the only way to quell the wails of agony.

The blows seem endless. He can’t help jolting at each and every impact. Jared sucks in breaths between them, then stuffs his tongue back to stop his airflow, teeth digging once again into supple flesh. Nothing can break through like this. Not a sound will escape. He tastes iron, and realizes he must have bitten down too hard.

Then there is the feeling of time stretching on, Jared almost hovering out of his own body. He no longer has to try so hard to suppress yelps and howls. Instead, it’s moans he quashes. He still writhes, but for a different reason. Eventually, Master ceases the incursion. Jared’s feet, aching and bruised, will certainly be useless for quite a while. Indefinitely, really, because Master could always cane them again if it pleases him. Jared wouldn’t mind at all.

“That should keep you how you belong and remind you of your place. How you feelin’, Pet? You look a little dazed. You can answer that.”

“Mmm,” Jared smacks his bloodied lips together, trying to bring his mind back online after the assault. “Thank you, Sir,” he says, slightly slurred.

“That’s not what I asked.” The cane whacks into his ass once, the whistle and smack filling the space, Jared’s groan following. “Focus, boy. I said,” Master bends down, breath warm in Jared’s ear, before continuing in his husky voice, “How,” a slight pause, “do you feel.”

“S-s-s-sore,” Jared stutters, “Sir.”

“Good.” Master’s hand comes up to just barely caress the back of Jared’s neck. He shivers, and goosebumps spring up over his flesh. “How else? A little fuzzy, perhaps?” Master whispers.

“A b-bit, Sir.” Jared’s head hangs limp.

Master yanks it up by his hair. “You stay here with me. We’re not done yet. You hear me?”

“Yes Sir,” he chokes out.

With that, Master drops his head and walks away. Jared whines at the loss. But Master’s soon behind him again, rubbing something over his rear. It feels like…

The sensation disappears and moments later is replaced by sharp pain.

Yep, a tenderizer paddle. It’s made of wood, sure, but has the texture of a meat pounder.

“I had to come back early just to punish your sorry ass.” Uh oh. Master is using foul language. He’s _furious._ “Count, _Pet,_ ” he sneers. “And I better not hear anything else.”

“One,” Jared whimpers.

Master continues speaking as he beats Jared’s ass with the paddle. Jared keeps count in his head, not daring to interrupt. “I can’t _believe_ you. Who do you think you are?”

“Three,” Jared counts, the exact same time another vicious strike lands. It causes his voice to come out a little louder, and he’s punished for it with the next blow. “Five.” He chokes back tears, though not from the pain.

“Do you think,” Master pauses to laugh, “do you think you’re your own person, Pet? Do you think you have _freedom_ here?”

The tears start to fall. “Thirteen.”

“That you can make _choices?_ Because that’s just ludicrous!” The last word is accented with a grunt, as Master puts his whole body into the swing.

“Seventeen.” Tears falling turns to crying. Master is right. Who did he think he was? How could he disrespect Master like that? For all Master does for him, Jared rewards him with defiance and blatant insubordination. Why would he even keep Jared around, at this point? “Nineteen.”

In an incensed voice, Master continues. It’s as if he can read Jared’s thoughts. “Why should I bother with such a useless,” _whack,_ “worthless _,_ ” _slam,_ “ _idiotic_ pet such as you,” _smack,_ “who can’t follow,” _slap,_ “basic instructions,” _thwap,_ “for less than a _week?_ ” _crack._

Jared is sobbing uncontrollably now, no matter how hard he tries to keep it together and take what he’s told he deserves. Master doesn’t want him anymore. Jared needs Master like he needs air to breathe, but Master doesn’t need Jared. He never did.

“T-t-twenty-f-five,” he stammers.

Master replies apathetically, “You can’t even count right. Is there anything you _can_ do?”

Jared’s hyperventilating at this point. He wants to offer up his services—to insist he’ll do anything, _anything,_ Master wants. But then, he already did that, didn’t he? And he failed. So Master is going to kick him to the curb. Jared will never see him again. All because he’s too weak to live up to life’s minorest challenges.

The room is silent except for Jared’s sobs and quick, gasping breaths. He aches to beg. He yearns to plead. However, Master doesn’t desire that. Jared isn’t going to spend his last few precious moments with Master displeasing him. He squeezes his eyes shut. It hurts. _Oh,_ it hurts. It’s like there are claws inside his ribcage, digging into his heart and tearing it apart. Shredding him from the inside out. Oh, how it _hurts!_ Jared tries to hold in the sound, but a fierce keening noise rips itself from his decimated chest.

“Look at me. _Look at me.”_ Master commands authoritatively.

Jared forces his eyes open and slowly casts his gaze up. He can barely make out the wavy outline of Master through his tears.

Master puts his hands on Jared’s cheeks, lifting his head, stroking under his eyes and wiping steadily flowing droplets. “You’re not completely good for nothing. You do have the tightest ass goin’. You want me to use you, Pet? Take my fill?”

Jared nods frantically. Yes, yes he wants that. He so _vehemently_ wants that.

Master tips Jared’s head up more and ravages his mouth. He thrusts his tongue in and out, licks into every crevice and corner, and bites Jared’s busted lip. The sting is all that grounds him and keeps him from kissing back. He’s wanted Master for so long… but this is Punishment. Jared can’t kiss back in Punishment.

Master rises to his feet. Jared could start sobbing all over again. “Hush, Pet. Master will be right back.”

He listens to Master’s footfalls while walking in a circle around him. “Hmm. Something’s missing here,” Master says patronizingly. He snaps his finger. “I know!” After grabbing something that jingles, the stepping sounds make their way back. “Here, Pet.”

A chain choker with Jared’s leash attached is slipped over his head from behind. It sits right over his permanent collar. Master pulls. It tightens around Jared’s throat and constricts his breathing. Despite this not being new to Jared, the feeling scares him at first, every time. He jerks in his bindings; fight-or-flight. 

“That’s right, boy. You’re mine. You only get to breathe if I choose to let you breathe. You’re lucky it still amuses me to keep you alive.” He releases the leash, allowing Jared to gulp in air.

A cold, wet hand strokes over Jared’s hole. He shivers from more than the frigid feeling on his entrance. “I bet I barely even have to prep you, seeing as you had your slutty fingers all up in here just yesterday.” Master bends over Jared’s back and speaks into his ear. “Bet you’re nice and lax for me.”

One finger breaches him, then two. They quickly scissor him open, and not gently or sweetly. Master is methodical and emotionally distant as he loosens Jared up.

“I think you’re ready for my cock, you whore.” The leash is pulled again. 

Can’t breathe.

Something fat and blunt pushes up against Jared’s hole and despite the bonds, he attempts to shove back on it. He can’t help it. Jared’s ass is Master’s cock’s home. They’re like peanut butter and jelly.

Room spinning.

Coffee and cream.

Getting spotty.

Gin and tonic. 

Fading out.

Latch and key.

Master pushes in, and Jared’s mind unlocks.

The leash is released and Jared flies away. Master starts fucking him, slow and sweet. Master said to hush. But it’s so hard when his cockhead keeps bumping that special place inside.

A mewl breaks out of Jared’s throat, in spite of his best efforts.

Master’s chest rumbles and he pulls the leash again. He swivels his hips in circles. “Oh, you like that, Pet, don’t you. Feels so good, huh,” he says, cocky and smug.

Chain constricts around Jared’s neck. For forty-five seconds, he can’t breathe.

And he loves it. It feels spectacular. Like he’s drifting through the galaxy, his earthly worries lightyears away. Stars bestrew his vision, until he flits past even those, into pure darkness. Nothingness. 

They call outer space “breathtaking” for a reason.

“You can make noise again. Make all the noise you want. But you can’t come.”

A choked out sob reaches Jared’s ears. He realizes it’s his own.

“You can cry all you want, too. You can beg,” he pauses to groan, “and plead. But bad boys don’t get to finish. And you were a naughty, naughty boy,” Master says derisively. He starts driving into Jared in earnest.

Jared wails.

Master fucks in and out harder, bumping his cockhead into Jared’s prostate with each stroke.

Jared’s drunk. Stoned. Sloshed. Baked. 

The slap-slap-slap of Master’s balls into his ass is brutally fast.

He’s thoroughly wasted.

Master’s grunting with the effort, bodies crashing together, sweat dripping from Master’s hair to Jared’s neck, trickling down his carotid.

There’s the clutch of metal over a tender throat.

Gone. Jared’s gone.

His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, a wretched moan just barely escaping. Oh, how he needs to come. Please, Master. Please!

Feeling Jared’s asshole tightening even further over his cock, Master tuts and pulls out. “Now now, Pet. What did I say? _No coming.”_

The chain slackens. There’s a desperate keen. It must be Jared’s, but does his body exist? Nihility is all he knows. That, and this _voracious_ need. Whining sounds filter through the fog.

“Oh, you needy whore. Look at you, you’re drooling! It would be so _easy_ just to shove my cock in and choke you with it instead. I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you.” Distantly, Jared feels rough hands groping his tender asscheeks. “Nice and raw,” fingers fondle his balls, “and locked up tight, too.” Master gives a light slap to them.

With no warning, he slams back in. He aims directly at Jared’s sweet spot and pounds viciously. It’s a race to the finish, and even if Jared wins, he loses.

This is proven moments later when Jared gets there first; he hits that peak, about to crash over and ride the wave, and Master pulls back once again.

Mewling and whimpering cries somehow slip out of him. Master lowly moans. “Ahh,” he says, running calloused palms up Jared’s sides. He basks in Jared’s torment. He seems to soak it all up like it gains him vigour; as if he’s a grand oak, absorbing energy from the sun.

He abruptly thrusts home again.

While Master fucks him like Jared’s ass is gravitational, the noises that fill the dungeon are animalistic in nature. Shrieks and howls are all Jared’s body is capable of—a true pet indeed—while his mind soars through space and time. Master yanks the leash.

Jared’s close. So, so close. Right on the edge. If Master could just continue a moment longer, he could tip right over.

Empty. Suddenly so empty.

Something warm and wet stripes up his back. It dribbles towards his spine, like it wants to absorb into his center. He would very much like that. It belongs in him. 

But bad boys don’t get Master’s cum inside.

Jared passes out.

—

He wakes again, being gently placed into Master’s bed. Startled and momentarily unsure of where he is, he thrashes around.

“Shh, shh, just settle down,” Master whispers.

The terrified look fakes away as Jared recognizes his surroundings. Plush pillows, silk sheets. Master’s warm embrace.

“That’s it. Good boy. Such a good pet.” Master settles down with his back against the headboard and pulls Jared into his lap, cradling him in his arms. “I knew you could do it, my sweet.”

Exhausted and still a bit disoriented, Jared buries his face in Master’s shoulder, crying soft tears from the adrenaline and endorphin crash. _‘He’s staying._ I’m _staying,’_ he thinks, reverent.

“Shush, my good boy. I know how hard it is on you when I leave you. I’d rather not leave you for so long.” With one hand, he gently pets Jared’s head and scritches behind his ear. With his other, he wipes away the tears. “You need your Master there, to tell you what to do, what to think. But you’re ok now. You hear me, Pet? You’re ok now. I’m here.”

Sniffling, Jared nods his head.

“Don’t fret, sweetheart. I won’t be leaving again for a long long while. You just can’t handle it, can you.” Jared shakes his head and starts to get agitated in Master’s grip. “That’s ok. Shush, shush, sweet boy. Don’t fuss. Just rest with Master. You’re safe now. I’m home now. I’m home with you. I’m here.”

He lets his eyes slip closed.

“I knew you could take it, baby boy. You can do anything.”

Jared just barely hears that smooth-as-honey, deep-as-whisky voice as he drifts off; “You’re a _good boy_.”

And finally, Jared doesn’t have to doubt it, because he doesn’t get to decide. Master has decided for him.

He smiles in his sleep and dreams of crimson and evergreen.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written in about ten years. So thanks for reading and helping make it extra special!


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